


bird on a wire

by cbalazeit



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Planned, pot au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7036177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbalazeit/pseuds/cbalazeit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Derek also wouldn’t be comparing the prices of clay scalpels. And old Derek would definitely not be shuffling awkwardly in his place, staring down at his feet. He’d probably glare at Stiles, throw him against the shelf and backflip out the window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bird on a wire

Derek comes back at the end of winter break, just when the ice is thawing from the branches, the preserve slowly recovering from the supernatural shitshow that drained it. 

Stiles was expecting something louder, or maybe bloodier, given his track record but instead he finds himself at the local arts supply store, face to face with Derek who’s holding two different type of clay spatulas. 

Derek looks up from where he’s staring intently at the prices, as Stiles approaches, figure stiffening slightly. For a moment they stare at each other, Stiles holding a pot of Blue Ground 210 because he’s the idiot who scratches his jeep with frozen tree branches, Derek shuffling lightly as he holds out the scalpels in front of him, arms angled awkwardly. 

He's smaller now, not in a bad way, at all. His waist is narrower but the width of his shoulders remains stubbornly huge, biceps visible through the loose flannel (derek hale wearing flannel is something he honest to god never thought he'd live to see) shirt.

“Do you work here now?”. Of all the scenarios Stiles had imagined, -and trust him, there had been quite a lot- of all the ways they would have reunited, this seriously never crossed his mind. 

Maybe Derek doesn’t recognize him. Maybe he has amnesia and thinks Stiles is just a clerk at a random art store in a town he felt compelled to return to, but never understood why. Maybe, Stiles shouldn’t have agreed to watch that Lifetime movie marathon with his dad last night. They had both pretended not to acknowledge each other's tears as Mariana reunited with Javier, when she remembered him again. 

He really has to learn to say no, those things screw with his mind.

“Work- what?”, mouth falling open slightly. There goes the smooth Stilinski charm.

“I mean- I don’t- uh do you?”. Derek is staring at him intently, like he’s asking something else, something more. But there's not really a lot to be interpreted from "do you work at this art store?" 

“Uh no. I don’t work here.”

“Oh- it’s, it's the shirt. It’s similar to the uniform”. Stiles looks down at his dark blue shirt, cursing his decision to move on from plaid. No one would ever use plaid as a uniform.

He looks up at Derek, who's still standing there, sheepishly staring back. 

“Yeah, I don’t work here, at all. I’m just a customer...who came to buy….art stuff…specifically this uh- blue paint” he trails off lamely. 

“You don’t say.” Derek’s voice is dry but when Stiles meets his eyes, they’re flitting from his face to the paint in his hands to the empty space around him. He still can’t figure out their color. 

“So are you--you’re back for good…?” he trails off, not knowing what to focus on. 

God, Derek looks good, with all the scruff and soft plaid with a tear on the collar. Old Derek would never wear something like that. 

Old Derek also wouldn’t be comparing the prices of clay scalpels. And old Derek would definitely not be shuffling awkwardly in his place, staring down at his feet. He’d probably glare at Stiles, throw him against the shelf and backflip out the window. 

Probably. 

“Maybe. I-don’t know yet.” Derek looks up at Stiles, eyes searching his face. Stiles isn’t sure what he’s looking for but he seems to relax slightly when Stiles offers a small smile. 

“Cool that’s-uh-that’s cool...I guess I’ll see you around?” 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a stretch of silence and Stiles tugs at his shirt, aware of the empty spaces in their conversations, the unasked questions -where’s Cora? why did you leave without saying goodbye? are you still blaming yourself because I am- but he stays silent. 

Derek opens his mouth to say something, anything except that’s the moment a tall, brown eyed employee wearing a seriously similar blue shirt (he knew buying the three for five pack at Gap was a mistake) sidles up to them, a bright smile on her face.

“Need any help, boys? We have those in packets. Three for one!” 

They both stare at her in confusion, until she points at Derek’s hands, or really, the scalpels. 

Stiles is expecting Derek to glare at her but to his surprise, he nods. 

“That’s good.” His voice is soft and he places the scalpels back on the shelf. 

“Oh!” The employee, whose name tag reads Kylie, beams at Derek. “If you come this way, sir.”

Derek turns back to Stiles, giving him a small awkward wave accompanied by an hesitant smile. 

What.

“See you around, Stiles”. 

With that he turns around and follows Kylie, who’s talking about polymer clay. 

And Derek is nodding back, like he actually knows what she's talking about. 

They turn the corner and disappear into the rows of art supplies, leaving Stiles staring at the empty space where Derek was, trying to come to terms with the fact that Derek is now, according to all the evidence gathered in a two minute conversation, an artist. But not just an artist...a sculptor.


End file.
